


Meet Me At The Coffee Shop

by jerk3max



Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Baker AU, Burlesque AU, M/M, safe sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-07
Updated: 2015-03-24
Packaged: 2018-02-07 21:12:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1914036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jerk3max/pseuds/jerk3max
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Smith has owned his bakery for two years, eleven months, three hundred and sixty three days so far. Everyday feels just as wonderful as the last, but obviously the job wasn’t everything he had expected it to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I didn't quite catch your name.

**Author's Note:**

> jerk3max's first fic! I posted this on tumblr a little while ago and I've decided to put some of them up here too!

Ever since he was a little kid, Alex Smith had dreamt about being a baker. He liked the idea of serving people his own recipes, cooked and prepared by himself for others to enjoy.  
Of course, people move away from their dreams; those who wanted to become athletes stop going to the gym, those wanting to be rich accepting brutal reality.  
He’d owned his bakery for two years, eleven months, three hundred and sixty three days so far. Everyday feels just as wonderful as the last, but obviously the job wasn’t everything he had expected it to be.  
His customers were normally quiet folk considering his cafe was on the outskirts of the bustling town. He has many regulars, chirpy old ladies with breathy laughs who liked to sit by the window and watch the world pass by.  
For a moment, he wonders where the rest of his school friends have ended up.  
“Excuse me, sir?”  
“Hm?” Smith hums in return, momentarily forgetting his place behind the counter.  
“I would like to buy some of your pastries.”  
“Oh! Yes, apologies, I was in a world of my own for a moment there,” Smith chuckles, finally smiling at the customer.  
He was tall, only about an inch or so smaller than Smith himself, with ice blue eyes and short black hair. He was a muscled, well kept man and Smith couldn’t help but notice that the man had heavy eye make up on. Nothing wrong with it of course, but it seemed to have been applied professionally.  
“So you actually did go on to make your shitty pastries,” the man says, leaning on the counter and gazing around the room, “You were adamant that you could set up your own business ever since primary school.”  
“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch your name,” Smith murmurs, shifting away from the cash register to the open kitchenette area.  
“Ross, y’know, Ross Hornby? We went to school together,” Ross says, Smith noticing he seems slightly down heartened. “We were good friends until I moved into the city for my apprenticeship.”  
“Oh yeah! Remember that time we bunked P.E. and hid in the computer class to play those cheesey computer games?” Smith smiles, dusting the work surface with flour. “So what do you do now then, mate?”  
“I’m a professional burlesque dancer,” Ross says, smirking at Smith’s confused stare, “I did work further up north, moving from place to place because people just offered more and more money if I worked with them, then I moved out here. The big club in the town centre offered me a paycheck with five zeros.”  
“Doing well then,” Smith quips, kneading the dough and avoiding Ross’ gaze. “Didn’t think you’d sell your body like that though.”  
“I didn’t think you’d sell your shitty pastries and here we both are,” Ross replies, grinning wildly at the baker. “I remember when there was a fire drill because you burnt some chocolate in the microwave.”  
“My cooking foolery days are over, I would have had this business running for three years in two days time,” Smith laughs, shaping the dough and putting it in the small oven.  
Ross smiles at him from his place over the counter, watching Smith walk around the tiled area and clean up any mess he had left behind. Smith winds up his egg timer and sets it beside the cash register, chuckling weakly and looking back at Ross.  
The dancer points at some doughnuts in the display case and smiles at Smith, the baker smiling back and finding himself blushing slightly. Smith puts the little cakes into a logo stamped bag and slides them over to Ross, the dark haired man fishing through his wallet and handing over the money.  
“Are you doing anything later?” Ross says, clicking his tongue against his teeth and taking his bag from the counter. “Thought you could come over to mine and we could… catch up.”  
Ross wastes no time in drawing a pen from his trouser pocket and scrawling his number and address onto his receipt.  
“Yeah, I’d like that,” Smith hums, watching Ross write in his childish rounded letters.  
“My apartment is number six hundred and twelve on the fourth floor,” Ross says, handing over the small slip of paper. “See you at eight, then.”  
“I’ll bring snacks,” Smith offers, sliding the paper into his pocket and feeling his face heat up again.  
“That would be great,” Ross smiles, turning to leave the store and throwing one last wink over his shoulder, leaving the baker utterly flustered.


	2. Just tell me, alright?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just as planned, Smith arrived at Ross’ apartment at exactly 7:57pm. Admittedly, he was nervous. He blamed it on the fact the boy he once played video games with in his mum’s flat was now a freaking burlesque dancer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up that this chapter is nsfw!

Just as planned, Smith arrived at Ross’ apartment at exactly 7:57pm. Admittedly, he was nervous. He blamed it on the fact the boy he once played video games with in his mum’s flat was now a  _freaking burlesque dancer._

 He didn’t want blame it on the fact he’d always viewed Ross as more than just a friend. Smith saw that as pushing boundaries, if there were any in the first place.

The tall, burly man in question opens the door fifteen seconds after Smith had knocked- not like he had been counting- and promptly pulls him in for a hug.

“Hey, mate,” Ross says, sighing into the overly tight embrace. Smith notes the fact that Ross smells like roses and hugs him in return, pressing his nose against Ross’ neck and drawing in more of the delicate scent.

“I brought snacks,” Smith says as he pulls back, offering Ross the bag and blushing when their hands brush, “I remembered that you liked chocolate so I made them special.”

Ross smiles wider and leads Smith into the apartment by his wrists, standing in the centre of the room and waving his arms. Smith grins in return, eyeing the vanity table in the far corner and the disarray of make up upon it. The dancer pays no attention to Smith’s confused look and instead shows him to the settee.

The dark haired man launches himself over the back of the couch, falling ungracefully onto the cushions and laughing to himself. He gestures vaguely to the other end of the sofa as he sits himself up, Smith awkwardly sitting himself down and and blushing when Ross moves over to him.

“So what do you have planned for tonight?” Smith asks, keeping his hands in his lap and twiddling his thumbs awkwardly.

“Oh, I have some ideas,” Ross drawls, draping himself over Smith and gently kissing his head, “If you would want that?”

“Yes,” Smith hums, wrapping his arms around Ross’ neck and ghosting their lips. Ross smiles into their kiss, drawing his hands over Smith’s shirt and down to his hips.

Smith sits up again, Ross chuckling and indicating to the bedroom with a small flick of his head. The shift from sofa to bedroom feels like a blur, blood roaring in Smith’s ears as Ross pushes him onto the bed and straddles his lap.

“Wait, Ross,” Smith starts, Ross already sucking and biting along the curve of his neck. “Have you ever done anything like this before?” Smith immediately regrets his words.

“Why? D’you want to be the first to disappoint me?” Ross laughs, kissing along Smith’s jaw and passing him a small sealed packet. The bearded man is about to question it, Ross noticing his confusion and rolling his eyes. “Yeah, a condom, are you going to put it on or not?”

Smith nods quickly, shuffling out of his jeans and looking up at Ross. The dancer gives him a wink, reaching sideways to grab the water-based lubricant and pull his boxers down, Smith swearing he did it all in one heartbeat.

The baker squeezes the packet in his fingers, Ross sensing his nerves and promptly pulling him in for another kiss, the dancer mumbling against his lips,“If you want to stop, just tell me, alright?”.

Nodding, Smith kisses him again, Ross bringing his lips back against the skin of Smith’s neck and biting gently against the delicate area. Smith briefly notes how Ross had reached behind himself before his senses fog with the smell of sweat and roses, Ross’ moans ringing in his ears as he tears open the small packet.

Checking the small circles of rubber a few times, Smith decides he trusts it enough and rolls it on, smiling up at Ross as the dancer takes out his fingers and straddles Smith once more. Ross squeezes liberal amounts of lube onto Smith, the latter shuddering and laughing about the cool substance. The dark haired man takes the moment of awkwardness as a sign to kiss Smith some more, both of them smiling into the touches with bated breath.

“Are you ready?” Ross asks, sitting up onto his knees and pressing Smith against his entrance.

“I’m ready if you are,” Smith says in return, holding onto Ross’ hips and trying desperately to engrave into his mind what Ross looks like.

Ross slowly lowers himself down, grasping Smith’s arm and moaning through grit teeth. Smith draws his thumb over Ross’ knuckles soothingly, allowing the dancer to get comfortable before moving again.

The first moves are slow and fragile, Ross rolling his hips to test his own boundaries before tilting his head back and moving himself faster. His free hand falls behind himself as he leans backwards, rocking and snapping his hips against Smith’s own and near enough mewling at the contact.

Smith dips his head into the pillows, moans tumbling from his throat as Ross works onto him, the dark haired man tensing against him and making his mind cloud over. The baker struggles to keep his eyes open as Ross writhes against him, his hand still desperately clinging onto Smith’s own.

“Ross, ‘m gonna come,” Smith hums, his toes curling over as Ross clenches down on him once more.

“Yeah, me too,” Ross breathes, shifting himself to stroke himself in time with each roll of his hips.

The baker comes first, jumbled curses a plethora on his swollen lips as his head tips back and he sees stars. Ross follows soon after, leaning back and whining through his nose at the overwhelming feeling.

Calming from their high takes no more than thirty seconds, Ross already bright eyed and bushy tailed as he pulls off Smith and throws the used condom in the bin across the room. Smith sits up again, laughing at Ross’ come stained t-shirt and earning himself a rather energetic Ross tickling him until he is breathless.

Ross flops himself beside Smith, hands folded on his chest and staring at the ceiling, Smith rolling onto him and kissing his neck.

“What’s wrong, mate?” Smith asks, eyeing Ross’ thoughtful expression.

“I could really do with those cakes now.”


	3. Wingman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Morning, Trott,” Smith says, smiling awkwardly at his university friend who can sense Smith’s secrets from miles away.  
> “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally updated, sorry for the wait! enjoy this shorter more filler-ish chapter before everything starts kicking off

Its eight thirty in the morning when Smith opens up shop, striking another day off the calendar towards the circled date of the anniversary. He flips the sign gracefully from closed to open and immediately regrets his decision when he sees the shorter chestnut haired man practically charging towards the door.

“Morning, Trott,” Smith says, smiling awkwardly at his university friend who can sense Smith’s secrets from miles away.

“You’ve _got_ to be kidding me,” Trott says with no hint of anger in his voice as he stares at the large hickey on the man’s neck, “Who was it? Someone I know?”

“Whether you know them or not does not matter to you. My sex life shouldn’t be gossiped about, especially to you,” Smith says, hoping Trott didn’t hear the obvious pitch increase.

Trott, much to Smith’s delight, drops the subject, instead pulling out a chair to sit on and inviting Smith to do the same. Smith pulls his collar over the mark on his neck before Trott rolls his eyes.

“How’s business for you?” Smith asks, gulping as Trott eyes his movements as a certain dark haired man saunters through the door.

“Dressing up in a walrus fursuit everyday isn’t exactly as good as it sounds,” Trott sighs, showing Smith the bruises on his arms. “Children are scary and dangerous.” To which Smith laughs in agreement. “You have a customer, by the way.”

Smith tries to be as casual as possible as he makes his way to the counter, flushing red when he sees Ross grinning back at him. 

The fact that Ross is wearing significantly less makeup if the first thing Smith notices, his tight fit black shirt the next as Smith makes a mental note to tell him to wear more often.

“So what can I do for you today?” Smith asks, clearing his throat as Ross grins happily.

“I have a show tonight, and I was wondering if you wanted to come?” Ross says, passing Smith a small card with the details on. “It’s the first one I’ve been the choreographer for, but you don’t have to if you’re busy with your cute friend.”

“No, I’m free, I’ll stop by,” Smith smiles, blushing at the sultry picture of Ross on the small card. 

“I’ll be seeing you there then, and I’ll take two chocolate doughnuts,” Ross smiles, fishing through his wallet as Smith bags the cakes and passes them across the counter. Smith grins as their hands brush and Ross laughs again, the sound making Smith’s heart flutter. “See you tonight, Alex.”

“Yeah,” Smith says, staring at the back of Ross’ head as he walks out of the bakery. Smith wipes his sweaty palms on his trousers and awkwardly sits back down with Trott, the smaller man smiling with a huge, shit-eating grin.

“It’s him, isnt it?” Trott says, more of a statement than a question, “You fucked _him_.”

“Trott, there are kids around,” Smith hushes, sliding Ross’ burlesque card across the table. “He invited me to a show.”

“Oh jesus Smith, really, banging your old school friend the _burlesque dancer_?” Trott crosses his arms and leans back in his chair.

“He thinks you’re cute,” Smith says, putting the card back in his pocket, “I’m going to the show, it seems really important to him.”

“Like how he’s important to you?” Trott smiles, tugging his large coat on and standing.

“We’ve known each other two days,” Smith frowns, curling in on himself slightly.

“Take him on a date already, you asshole,” Trott says, grinning as he leaves the shop looking as smug as ever.


	4. Like the colour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “My dance is in five minutes, after that I’m all yours.”  
> “All mine?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another short chapter ahead! its dialogue heavy.  
> warnings for roofies, unreality, and fainting.

Smith arrives at the club half way through a song, the music practically shaking the room as he wanders towards the bar. He checks his watch at least three times before ordering a the most colourful drink on the menu.

“Smith?” Smith barely hears Ross say over the overwhelming hum of the music. “I’m so glad you made it!” Smith blushes as Ross bounds up to him, bustle skirt rustling against his legs in a way that makes him tug up his stockings and readjust his black spiked suspenders. Smith tries not to stare at the bright red corset as Ross towers over him in his heels and pulls him into a hug.

“Yeah, sorry I’m late, traffic was mental,” Smith says, moving to put his drink down before Ross grabs his wrist.

“Don’t let that drink out of your site, just in case,” Ross says, “Though, it’s a bit cold for a margarita, don’t you think?”

“I liked the colour,” Smith admits as Ross grins and leads him to a reserved booth. “Ross, I-”

“I saved you a booth with a view,” Ross smiles, showing him the neatly folded paper flower with his name scrawled across it. “My dance is in five minutes, after that I’m all yours.”

“All mine?” Smith asks, voice breaking as he blushes.

“Yeah, I’m off clock,” Ross says, moving aside the large back of his skirt to sit down and cross his ankles. “I thought you could come over again, if that’s alright with you?”

“Sure,” Smith says, sipping his drink and running a hand through his hair. 

“It’s a date.” Ross smiles, making Smith blush at his words, and look down at his knees. Ross frowns and shuffles closer, resting his hand on top of Smith’s own. “Too soon?”

“No! No- It- It’s fine, more than fine,” Smith stutters, blushing when Ross tilts his chin up and makes him wheeze with his breathtaking smile. “I would like that,” Smith says, quietly, smiling when Ross kisses him.

Ross perks up when the music fades down, glancing back at the stage as the dancers walk off. “That’s my queue, I’d better go,” Ross says, pressing another kiss to Smith’s cheek before standing and making his way to the front.

Smith sets his drink on the table and leans back in the soft seat of the booth. Shifting up as others sit down alongside him, all staring intently at the stage as the dancers emerge with Ross leading. The music gets louder as the dance begins, lights changing colours softly as the dancers move.

Smith feels entranced as the beat quickens and the dance style changes, with Ross leading with a grin on his face as he looks out across the crowd. Smith picks his drink up and sips happily, waving at Ross as they make eye contact. 

He winces at the taste of his bright blue drink as the room practically spins around him. The faces of people around him shift and distort and he feels like he's dying, hands shaking and palms sweating as his stomach begins to churn. He goes to stand before stumbling and gripping onto the edge of the seat, only just seeing Ross’ panicked gaze as he falls forward and everything turns black.


	5. We can try again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “How are you feeling?” Ross asks, passing him the tray and sitting on the bed opposite him. He is still in full uniform bar his heels, which have been replaced by mismatched socks. His makeup is smudged and he has tugged a hoodie on over his corset.
> 
> “Confused, mostly,” Smith says as he shovels bacon into his mouth and chews. He eyes the way Ross is looking at him and frowns. “What?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a more emotional chapter, imo. sorry!

Smith wakes up and feels likes he’s been hit by a car. His head spins and he reaches for his bedside lamp, frowning and rubbing his eyes when he doesn’t feel it. He sits up slowly, groaning in annoyance before noticing the lack of airsoft rifles lining his walls and the influx of burlesque posters.

He panics briefly, gripping for his shirt collar and being overwhelmed with relief as he finds he still has clothes on. Smith eyes the small note on the table, smiling softly at the familiar writing and the glass of water with two aspirin pills resting beside it. He swallows the two tablets and rubs his eyes to read the note better.

‘ _Smith, I’m in the kitchenette, call for me when you’re awake. -Ross._ ’

Smith flushes and near enough chokes on his drink before clearing his throat and pushing his hair out of his eyes as he tries to peek through the gap in the door. He goes to call Ross before the dark haired man saunters in with a tray table full of food, blushing when he sees Smith staring straight back at him.

“G'morning,” Smith says, wincing at how hoarse his voice sounds.

“How are you feeling?” Ross asks, passing him the tray and sitting on the bed opposite him. He is still in full uniform bar his heels, which have been replaced by mismatched socks. His makeup is smudged and he has tugged a hoodie on over his corset.

“Confused, mostly,” Smith says as he shovels bacon into his mouth and chews. He eyes the way Ross is looking at him and frowns. “What?” He says around his mouthful of food.

“You got roofied, mate, some asshole put drugs in your drink,” Ross says, pulling his jumper sleeves over the palms of his hands. “Caught him on camera, though, he’s been charged.”

Smith gulps and looks down at his plate, suddenly losing his appetite as Ross rubs his eyes.

“Personally punched the fucker in the face, on your behalf, and texted that bowl-haircut guy about that happened,” Ross near whispers, running a hand through his hair, “Some first date, huh?” 

“That doesn’t have to be our first date,” Smith says, pushing the try table away for a moment to sit up properly. “We can try again, spend today doing something.”

“I- I have some shitty movies to watch?” Ross scratches at the back of his head weakly. “And we can order in.”

Smith nods quickly and groans as the room spins again, Ross moving the tray onto the bedside cabinet and he cuddles up to the taller man. Smith hums and tugs him closer, wrapping his arms around Ross’ neck and being overwhelmed with the smell of roses.

Ross sounds like hes crying as Smith hugs him tighter, wincing when Ross’ voice breaks as he speaks, “I was so _worried_ , I’m _so sorry_ this happened,” and Smith feels like his rips are going to cave in. Smith rubs his back and tries to remind him that it’s not his fault in rushed whispers, pressing his palms flat against Ross’ back and resting his cheek against his shoulder.

Ross pulls back after a few moments, pulling his sleeves over his palms and wiping his eyes. His makeup smudges on his sleeves and he runs a hand through his hair as he moves off the bed. Ross holds a hand out for Smith to hold as they wander into his living room.

Smith sits himself on the sofa and Ross disappears back into the bedroom. Smith shuffles awkwardly before Ross emerges again wearing slacks over his stockings and carrying Smith’s tray table of food. Smith thanks him quietly and allows Ross room to sit down too.

Ross wipes his nose and rests his head against Smith’s shoulder as he starts to eat again. “God I must look a right state,” he chuckles, turning on his television and flicking onto the movie channel.

“No,” Smith says, matter-of-factually, before resting his head on top of Ross’ own. “You’re beautiful, even if you’re snotting on my shirt.” 

“That’s disgusting,” Ross laughs, resting a lazy arm around Smith’s middle. “How are you feeling now?”

“Better,” Smith says, kissing Ross’ forehead. “Thank you.”

Ross washes up Smith’s plate when he’s finished, before Smith helps him bake cookies with the kinders he has laying about the house. Ross drags him back to the sofa with arms around his shoulders, peppering his face with kisses which makes him laugh and leave flour handprints on his hips.

Smith holds Ross close as they marathon movies, running soft hands through his hair and holding his fingers when he pulls his sleeves over his hands again. Smith is half asleep when his phone rings.

He sleepily sits up and takes his phone from the coffee table, yawning and smiling as Ross hugs him softly and kisses his shoulders.

“Hello?” Smith answers in a sleep laced voice, realising he probably should have looked at caller ID first.

“ _Smith?_ ” Trott asks, Smith smiling at his tinny voice coming through the speakers. “ _Where are you?_ ”

“At Ross’, don’t worry. I’m feeling better too, before you ask.”

“ _No, where are you? It’s your anniversary, mate, only Martyn is here,_ ” Trott says, Smith freezing and making Ross pull back and eye him carefully. Smith rubs his face solemnly and sighs into the speaker. “ _Sorry,_ ” Trott says quietly.

“No, Trott, it’s not your fault,” Smith replies, squeezing the bridge of his nose, “I can’t believe I fucking forgot, _fuck_.”

“ _Smith, get some rest, I’ll make sure your regulars get their coffee and I’ll tell them what happened. A little sob story might boost their tips,_ ” Trott says, Smith laughing softly before rubbing his eyes. 

“Tell them I’m sorry,” Smith says, leaning back into Ross as he hugs Smith once more. 

“ _You have nothing to be sorry for,_ ” Trott says, Smith hearing the kettle whistling in the background.

“I know.” Smith says, hanging up before hugging Ross softly. Ross doesn’t press as to why he’s crying and he’s grateful for that.


	6. Stress-baking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a lighthearted yet still emotion end to this little series!

It’s 3:38 am when Ross wakes to music and static and the smell of cookies. His neck creaks as he sits up from his temporary bed on the sofa, peering lazily at his kitchenette and frowning at the sight of Smith awake and baking.

“Smith, mate, d’you what time it is?” Ross groans, wrapping the blanket around his shoulders as he stands. “C’mon, let’s go to bed.”

Smith steps away from him as Ross moves closer.

“I’m not tired,” Smith says, softly mixing the dough for, presumably, the fourth batch of cookies. Ross rolls his eyes and drapes the blanket around his shoulders. “Ross, seriously, I’m fine.”

“I’m sorry,” Ross says, Smith rubbing his eyes and sniffling before stepping further away from Ross. “I’m sorry for making you miss your anniversary.”

“It’s alright, mate.”

“No, it’s not. It’s not alright, okay?” Ross says, stumbling over his words as Smith finally turns around. “I upset you, you got _drugged_ at _my_ club, I made you miss your anniversary, it’s _not fucking okay_.”

Ross runs a hand through his hair and scratches the back of his neck, making exasperated movements as Smith just stares back at him. “I can just leave again, I’m sure there’s a club in London I can run off to. I can just _leave_ ,” Ross gasps, throat stinging and heart beating heavily in his chest.

“Ross, _please_ ,” Smith says, tone so soft and so _wounded_ that Ross almost starts crying right then and there, “ _please don’t leave me again_.”

Ross breathes out a sob which makes Smith near throw the mixing bowl onto the side and hug him tightly. Smith’s arms wrap around his neck as Ross grips his hips so tight Smith is sure he would float away if he let go. The soft music on the radio feels overwhelming as Ross slides his hand to the back of Smith’s head to hold his close.

“I’m sorry, Ross, you know I’m not good with any of this,” Smith whimpers, burying his face in the crook of Ross’ shoulder. “I really do love you, I promise.” Ross nods softly and slowly rocks them to the music, Smith gently placing his arms around Ross’ chest and resting their foreheads together.

“I love you too, I’m sorry for leaving, I won’t ever do it again.” Ross whispers, softly kissing Smith and making him forget that he ever left in the first place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ayyy happy ending! ish! kinda!  
> thank you for reading, everyone! hopefully i'll update ao3 more frequently in the future.


End file.
